Fluffy, Like A Marshmallow
by Frankie McStein
Summary: All Jane wanted to do was follow Borden's advice. But how clever is it to tell an amnesiac to try new things?


Jess- What if Jane had a food allergy? How clever is the doctor's advice to 'keep trying new things' then?

Fluffy, Like a Marshmallow

"Keep trying new things."

The trouble with new things is, simply put, new is intimidating. Especially when literally everything is new. Her first night at the safe house, she asked her security detail what they liked to eat. One said, "Burgers," and that was that. For the next four days, Jane drank coffee at the office (At random intervals during the shift, Zapata would casually offer her different types of blends and roasts in cups of various sizes. Syrup was sometimes mentioned too. Jane found it a little confusing.) and ate burgers at night.

The fifth day saw Jane attempting to shop for groceries. She knew her security detail was in the store somewhere, and something told her that, if she could just get her eyes to focus, she'd be able to pick them out. But there were so many other things to look at! She hadn't expected a grocery store to be so big. She wandered aimlessly for a while, marveling at how everyone else seemed to find it so easy to find what they wanted.

After roaming the store with an empty basket for nearly half an hour, she ended up grabbing the first few things her eyes landed on without even trying to read the labels, telling herself that if she felt drawn to it, she must recognise it. It wasn't until she was safely back behind closed doors that she had to ask herself what on earth she was going to be able to make with a bottle of shampoo, a tub of something that seemed to be going out of its way to assure her it wasn't butter, and a packet of some sort of white stuff that claimed to be called tofu and looked like… well, she didn't actually have a reference for it.

The next day, she had mentioned her misadventure to Dr. Borden and was pleasantly surprised when he managed to control the smirk she was sure wanted to plaster itself over his face. He suggested telling the team she was having trouble figuring out what food she did and didn't like, and her diet became a topic of interest for the entire team. Reade had brought some sort of pasta dish in the very next day (she liked it a lot, and he had promised to write down the recipe for her), and the day after, Weller had offered her a plate of something he called "real home cooking" (that hadn't been as tasty, but she hadn't wanted to offend him).

It was Zapata who had suggested they all go out and expand Jane's palate. Every day, once they were all off the clock, Jane would sit and listen while the others argued over where to go for dinner. Sometimes she would have a coffee while she waited.

Pizza was a huge success. Jane had had doubts. It was obvious from the way she spent some time studying how the rest of the team reacted before even reaching for a slice that she wasn't at all convinced that it was actually edible. The deep intake of breath as she bit down on the pointed end was a signal to everyone around her that she had made some sort of connection to the taste. Sure enough, the second she swallowed the bite, she told them all, "I think I've had this before!" with such a delighted look on her face that no one wanted to point out just how common pizza was.

Fried chicken was another success story. After the pizza, Jane became more trusting of the team's suggestions and didn't even hesitate. Patterson whispered a very quiet, "Careful, it's on the bone," and received a quick but grateful smile before Jane sank her teeth into the meat.

"This is really, really good."

"Well, of course it is," Weller answered, his own mouth full too. "It was my idea."

Reade and Zapata both snorted and whatever conversation they might have been having descended into good-natured bickering.

In hindsight, they were lucky nothing had gone wrong earlier. To be fair, the blood workup Mayfair had ordered was nothing if not extensive, and none of the common allergies had thrown up a result. The team had spent all day running around the woods in the rain, and no one had enough energy to argue when Patterson suggested grabbing hot chocolates before they ate. She kept on talking about calories and shivering and fat content right up until they had reached the nearest Starbucks, then she shooed them all to a table before going up to order for the group.

Five minutes later (and quite how Patterson had managed to get their drinks _that_ quickly was a matter that would most definitely be looked into, at some point, when they were warm) all five of them had their hands wrapped around absurdly large mugs full of gloriously creamy hot chocolate and deliciously half-melted marshmallows. Reade commented on a tackle he'd seen Zapata execute and Weller tried to insist he'd taught her the proper technique. No one noticed when Jane gave a small cough.

She lifted her mug again, hoping another mouthful would ease her throat, only to nearly choke when another cough came almost before she had time to swallow. When she tried to catch her breath, she realised something was very wrong.

"Jane? You okay?" Patterson looked more curious than concerned, and Jane refused to panic.

"I feel strange. Like I'm out of breath." The last word was nearly lost in another wheezing cough, and this time, Jane was left gasping for air that she just couldn't seem to find.

"Jane?" Now everyone at the table was looking, but Jane didn't have the presence of mind to care. Her lungs were straining against the pressure in her throat, her skin felt like it was burning, and all she could think was, 'I've been poisoned!' Trying to convey that thought to the team just stole even more air from her lungs. Jane realised she was lying on the floor before she realised she had been falling out of her chair.

"Jane? Try to take a deep breath. Focus on breathing, okay?" That was Zapata. Where had she come from? And why did she look so blurry? "Breathe, Jane. Deep breath. C'mon."

"I don't care that we're in a busy area! One of my agents is down and needs immediate medical attention!" Weller sounded angry. Even though she couldn't make out the exact words over the pounding in her ears, Jane was glad he wasn't shouting at her.

"Yes, I know the address I gave you is a coffee shop! Just get here!" He might have carried on yelling, but Jane's vision was going all dim and wobbly, her chest felt like someone was jumping on it, her throat was being wrapped in piano wire, and it was too late to try not to panic.

Reade and Zapata were each clinging to one of Jane's hands, trying to stop her from hurting herself as she tried to claw at her own throat, desperate for air. Patterson was trying to talk to her, trying to keep her calm even as Jane's body started jerking in convulsion-like movements as her struggle to breathe became increasingly pronounced. And all Weller could do was watch. Stand and stare as she slipped away for some reason he couldn't figure out.

As Jane stopped thrashing, he felt a surge of relief, which was replaced with horror when he realised she wasn't breathing anymore. Zapata quickly started CPR, but there was no reaction from Jane. By the time the ambulance arrived, her face was white, her lips tinted blue, and Weller wasn't sure there was anything anyone could do. The EMTs had no such reservation and immediately assessed the situation.

"Looks like anaphylaxis. What's she allergic to?" This was thrown at the team as the other EMT said, "No breath sounds. Airway is closed."

Weller knew enough to recognise "anaphylaxis" and to know that a tracheotomy was the sort of last ditch resort they would have to use on someone who was as oxygen-deprived as Jane. Even so, he only had a split second to grab Patterson's face and turn her away before the first EMT cut into Jane's throat. An odd, whistle-like sound was the first indication they had that the procedure had worked. Scant seconds later, the tube had been packed into place and Jane was being lifted onto a stretcher.

"Marshmallows? You're joking! Who on earth is allergic to marshmallows?"

"Apparently me." Jane's voice was still hoarse and her throat still hurt, but she wasn't too bothered. Compared to what she could remember of her allergic reaction, this was negligible.

"Peanuts I understand. Certain breeds of dog, fine. Specific brands of perfume, sure. But _marshmallows_?" Patterson sounded personally insulted. "What's the point of hot chocolate if you can't melt marshmallows in it?"

Jane's half-smothered smile didn't help matters but before Patterson could continue, Weller jumped in. "Borden wants to know if you're still willing to try new things," he said, smoothly cutting Patterson off. "Seems to be worried this might put you off."

"I don't remember ever having a tracheotomy before," Jane replied with a grin.

"Ah, so you were just following doctor's orders, huh?"

"Yep, keep trying new things."

"Guys, you don't seem to understand. These are marshmallows we're talking about!" Patterson glared as Weller and Jane both chuckled. "This is not funny. This is tragic!"

"Aren't you allergic to fake nails?" No one could explain how Zapata managed to look so innocent in the face of Patterson's glare.

"No. I am allergic to the resins that are in the fake nails. Which is perfectly normal, thank you very much."

Jane saw the opportunity to end the conversation and took it. "Who wants to be normal anyway?"


End file.
